


Someone else, someone better

by Anna1122



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Jon loved Daenerys, Jon loves Sansa but hasn't realised it yet, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Sansa knows she loves Jon, Season 8 Fix It, Season 8 compliant, Slow Burn, but it will burn eventually, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2020-10-06 13:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20507786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna1122/pseuds/Anna1122
Summary: Fix-it fic taking place after season 8.Queen Sansa needs a husband. Compared to Jon every suitor loses. But marrying Jon is impossible. Or isn't it? What would it take to make it happen? Sansa makes out three problems. The biggest one is Jon Snow himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. English is not my native language, and sadly I don't have a beta reader (yet). So please be kind.
> 
> I love GoT and ASoIaF and I still love the characters from the show and the books - including Dany. I try to treat her well even though she's the villain. 
> 
> But this fic is not about her. It's about Jon and Sansa and how they could find happyness in each other.

I. Sansa 

Sansa knows her heart. She has known it for a while now. Since the day Bran told them in front of the willow tree with Jon standing there all looking guilty as if it was his fault. 

No, before then. But she never would have admitted it, not even to herself, breaking a rule Littlefinger once taught her. There are no boundaries when it comes to thoughts, he had told her: "Dare to think everything." But not this.

After that afternoon with Arya, Bran and Jon in the godswood, the Night's King destroyed, the next war promised to be the last one, she had thought it. She had even thought that there might be a slim chance to get what she wanted. Daenerys would never give the north independence, and they would never win a war against her and her dragons, not without Jon. But the Dragon Queen would have needed to secure the grip of the crown on the North. And she would have needed heirs. If she played her cards right, Sansa thought back then, there might be a union between a Stark and a Targaryen once again. 

She was wrong. Daenerys never would have allowed Jon to go back north. No, of course not, she wanted him for herself. She never would have let Sansa live. She would have killed Jon too at one point, she was sure. She underestimated how threatened Daenerys had felt by herself. 

Jon hat understood. So he had done something incredible stupid and incredible brave. Like he always did. 

And was lost forever. 

And now Sansa is lost too. 

She tries to adjust. Ruling her Kingdom takes up most of her time but there was the matter of heirs. She must marry someday, better sooner than later, her advisors keep telling her. She wants to. She wants a family, wants to fill the great halls of Winterhall once more with the footsteps and laughter of Stark children. 

So once more Sansa stands in her solar with Yohn Royce, her closest advisor in the days of the war and now her Hand. There are papers spread across the table before them. Marriage proposals, family trees and even some sort of list. The window is open and Sansa hears the birds chirping. Spring is almost over. It's time to make a decision.

"Have you given it more thought", Yohn Royce asks.

"Of course", she answers. 

She fought for the Crown, now she has to make sure that the Starks will keep it. It is her duty alone, her family dead or elsewhere. A good match would strengthen Sansas claim to the northern throne. The northern lords were proud and some of them were fickle when it came to allegiances the past had shown. Not few would have preferred to bow to King not a Queen. She was a Stark, yes, but she had been married to a Lannister and to a Bolton, as her enemies well remembered. 

There were always suitors for a Lady with prospects, more so for a Queen of course. The ravens came from the south and from the north, but Sansa already decided.

"I want a northern house", she says. 

"Very well", Royce answers. "That might prove difficult. There are not many choicec considering that a lot of the young men followed your brother Robb to war or died in the war against the Night's King."

Of course she knows that. House Mormont? Abandoned. House Umber? All of them dead. House Karstark? It had no heir, but an heiress, just like House Reed. House Glover had broken faith and would not be rewarded for that. The Ryswells were a quarrelsome lot. House Cerwyn? All men married or dead. Lord Manderly was powerful and rich, but so fat that he would probably not be able to give her a heir. Even the thought repulsed her. 

"What about a younger man?" Royce asks her. What he means is a boy, one that still can be formed and influenced by her liking. 

"No", Sansa answers. She will not be Margaery Tyrell.

"But there are considerable advantages."

"No", she says firmy. 

"What about someone from the Vale", Yohn Royce says. He doesn't not sound unhappy. Why would he? It's his home and the Lords of the Vale would thank him for making one of them a King. 

"If nothing else remains to be done", Sansa answers. 

Even if she doesn't mean it. Later she sits in her chamber. Alone once more, in the room that once were her mother's and her father's. That was not what she expected from adult life, not at all. She was brought up to be the wife of a noble Lord one day. Become a mother, care for a family and a keep. If she was lucky, very lucky even a Kingdom. But Sansa doesn't feel lucky right now. All the feels is lonely. 

She probably would have married a man she didn't know or barely knew if her parents were still alife. Why is it so hard for her to make a decision now? 

Ramsay is one reason. 

She could slap herself thinking how naive she was even then, after all that she experienced in King's Landing and the Vale. You must be a fool to trust Littlefinger, she once said, later. She was a fool indeed. 

She could never ever experience anything like her marriage to Ramsay again, she knew. Or then, after all this years, after all that she survived, she would break. There were a lot of Ramsays out there, hidden behind pretty smiles and noble titles. 

The truth is, she's not looking that hard for a match. 

Because she already knows who she wants to marry. Even if it's impossible. 

Sometimes she finds it almost funny. The time she spent dreaming about a prince when she was a girl! And to think that there was one living beside her and she did not so much as glance in his direction. Only talked to him when it couldn't be helped. Ignored him most of the time as not to upset her mother like Arya and Bran who always loved him so fiercly and openly. 

But Sansa doesn't care if he was born a prince or a bastard, not anymore. When she thinks of Jon she thinks of something her father once said, that he would find someone worthy of her, someone "who's brave, gentle and strong." He fits this description perfectly. 

Every man loses when she compares him to Jon. 

The Prince of Dorne? Never fought a day in his life. 

Robin Arryn, heir to the Vale? Weak. 

Harry Hardyng, Robins heir? A ladies' man and a coward. He never answered a call unless it came from inside a woman's bedroom. 

Sansa can play this little game for hours. It is unfair, really. 

So sometimes she just gives in her thoughts. Dares to think everything, even the things that seem impossible. Especially things that are impossible. That was Littlefingers lessions all about, was't it? To think long and hard enough, to scheme, to plot to make it happen. The question was: What would it take?

That is the question Sansa asks herself when she walks to the goodswood the next day to pray and much more to flee from her ever helpful council and think. She sits down on one of the white roots of the weirwood tree, it's blood red leaves hanging over her, concealing her. The goodswood is the place where her family comes looking for answers. Sansa doesn't see answers, not yet. Only problems. Three to be exact. 

First, Jons banishment.

The Dothraki, the few of them that had remained in Westeros, never had a problem with Jon. That he killed Daenerys just meant that he was stronger than her in their opinion. The Unsullied reached Naath, as Bran had kindly informed her. And had caused quite a stir. Who would want a foreign army arriving at their shore, even if they meant to protect them, Sansa wonders. So Grey Worm was occupied, too occupied to sail west again, or so she hopes. 

That leaves Westeros. The situation here is not hopeless. Theons sister Yara Greyjoy would be against a pardon but she could be convinced. Sansa heard that she struggled keeping her power. Sansa could help with that. There was more than enough wood in the north for new ships which Greyjoy needed badly. 

The Prince of Dorne hat never been a convinced supporter of Daenerys unlike his cousins and his aunt so it was unlikely that he would make a move would Jon be pardoned. Besides, his army was nowhere near powerful enough to be a threat. 

That left Bran. In all his wisdom, Sansa thinks, he must see how unfair this banishment is to Jon. Tyrion Lannister was nearly as involved ias Jon, but he became Hand of the King. He is free to go where he pleases, marry a woman, have children ... Being Hand is no punishment for him, not really. Bran must see that, she thinks. What crime did they, did Jon committ? They killed a tyrant! 

It makes her angry. 

That still leaves two problems. The second is Sansas power and how an allegiance with Jon might compromise it.

Of course it would be better to marry the heir of a noble house, Sansa knows that. But would a marriage to Jon put her Crown in jeopardy? 

In her years in King's Landing Sansa learned not only from Cersei and Littlefinger, but also from Varys. She has informants if not in all parts of the north, at least not yet, but in her castle and in all the great houses and also among the common people. Jon is well loved here still. His popularity, that had suffered after the arrival of the Dragon Queen, had significantly increased after her death. 

What she most often hears about Jon was that people were thankful. They had seen the army of the dead, many had seen the White Walkers, some even the Night's King. They had seen the threat, they had felt it, the had fought it and people had died. But most had survived this long and deadly night thanks to her sister and to Jon Snow. 

They didn't like it that he was banned to the Wall. That doesn't mean they would like the thought of him at her side, she thinks. But then: They had already seen them rule side by side. Would they be angry that she favoured a prince who once was a bastard over their sons? Maybe. But did they have better options? 

Politically a union would mean peace with the wildlings who loved Jon. That was not nothing. The lords closer to the wall still feared lootings. 

Jon's Targaryen heritage was tricky. The northern lords know Jon, they see him as Stark. But she had to make sure that his Targaryen side had no meaning. 

Some might say that he was raised as her brother, but he was not her brother. He was her cousin and marriages between cousins were common everywhere in Westeros as were marriages between noble daughters and the wardens of their father, who grew up together as well. 

The third, and that was the biggest problem, was Jon himself. 

The princes in Sansas dreams asked, no begged for her hand. Jon would never do such a thing. He was unlike every other man. 

She was quite sure that he had never thought of her in any other way than like a brother thought of a sister. That he had loved the Dragon Queen. But that fateful liaison had taught her something about her noble not-half-brother. He was not immune to female charms. 

Tormund had been going on and on about a redhead named Ygritte Jon had known back when he was north of the wall. And then Danenerys. Jon was interested in women, and he had broken his vows before. He could love her, grow to love her, Sansa hopes.

So she gets up from the root of the weirwood tree, stretches her arms and walks towards the castle. She is going to write a letter to her brother, she decides. Even if Jon never agrees to a marriage she can offer to pardon him, she thinks. And for that other matter she thinks of a lesson from Queen Cersei: Dare, or you lost already. 

Because there is something Sansa can give Jon that no other woman can. She can give him his home. Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If some of you wonder why once chapter vanished: I merged chapter one and two. The content remains the same.


	2. Chapter 2

II. Jon

The queen comes unexpectedly. When she rides through the gates of Castle Black, accompanied only some guards and a maiden, the sun begins to set. No one was expecting visitors, less royal ones. 

She is as beautiful as ever. Her long red hair shining in contrast on her silver grey cape. She wears a simple dark grey dress under that. Stark colors. She doesn't wear a crown. He heard she does sometimes. 

Jon is the first to greet her. She wraps him into an embrace, very much like the first one here, so long ago, before he can bend the knee. Admittedly he only tried half heartedly. 

"Your Grace", he says. "What brings you here?" 

It's not his part to ask, not really. He's not Lord Commander anymore. A boy was chosen for this role while he was away winning wars and losing anyway. Marvyn Potter, a 17 year old from King's Landing, sent here for stealing food. Now Potter is looking at him for guidance whenever he's around, like now, so Jon gets on his knees after all and the other men dressed in black follow. 

He's not here often though. He's a ranger now like Uncle Benjen. Just like he wanted before the wars. It's pure chance that he's here to greet Sansa. He planned to go on a ranging trip in the morning and meet Tormund beyond the Wall but that would have to wait. 

A visit by the Queen was an honor, not many Kings and even less Queens made the trip to the wall. He should feel honoured, really, so Jon doesn't quite know why he is so angry all of a sudden.

She doesn't answer his question, he notices. Instead she is talking to Lord Commander Potter who is trying his best to be curtious and not to offend her. 

The brothers of the Night's watch, most of them not older than their Lord Commander, are out of their depth with their high visit. So Jon does his best to help.

"The last time the Queen was here, she was situated in the Lord Commander's chambers", he says, hoping Potter will take the wink and prepare them for her.

"They were your chambers back then", Sansa says smiling at him as if she recollects a fond memory. But Jon can't bring himself to smile back.

"I'm not Lord Commander anymore. I wasn't even back then", he says. 

But Potter understands and so Sansa is brought to his rooms, where she can change and take some rest while Jon tries to convince the kitchen to try their best.

He doesn't sit next Sansa during dinner. She is surrounded by the men she brought from Winterfell, the Lord Commander and his steward, who is even younger than himself. 

It reminds Jon of the feasts in Winterfell back when he was a bastard. But he sits on the same table as Sansa, so that's a progress. Or kind of. He is not part of the conversation. He only hears some of it. The Queen is asking the Lord Commander about the needs of the watch and he answers her shyly before youthful curiosity, paired with Ale, takes the best of him and he asks her about the wars Jon so unwillingly talks about. He wants to know whan Bran is like and Arya, who he talks about like she is some mystical heroine, and Sansa kindly tells him all he wants to hear. 

She barely eats, Jon notices. But he can understand. The food is still awful at the wall. She looks tired, and she has lost all girlyness about her. That's different from the last time he saw her. She is a grown woman now, as it fits being a Queen and all. She will probably marry soon, Jon thinks, wondering who she will choose. Not a single man worthy of her comes to mind. But Sansa is clever and now that she can choose she will make a good match, he is sure. The thought brings a lump to his throat, much like when he thinks of Bran in King's Landing and of Arya on the sea. Their life goes on without him and that hurts, even more with Sansa because once they shared their path. 

Once dinner is finished Jon plans to excuse himself to go to his chambers. He knows he is not quite presentable right now, with his beard long and his locks standing wildly in all directions. It's not often that a woman comes visiting the wall. Sansas arrival makes him feel self-conscious, he needs a bath and a shaving. 

"I would like a word, Jon." 

Sansas voice startles him. 

"Of course, your Grace." She twists her mouth at this formal adressing but doesn't say anything. 

They walk silently to the solar of the Lord Commander's qarters, accompanied by one of Sansas guards. A fire is lit inside, so it's warm, but the keep the door a gap open. They can't be alone behind closed doors with each other anymore, it wouldn't be proper, now that everybody knows they are not siblings. Sansas guard is standing at the door. Close enough for safety, as if Jon would be a threat. Distant enough so he can't here what they speak. 

The sit in front of the fireplace, Jon sipping Ale. Much like the last time, but it feels very different. The silence between them is full of unsaid words not the comfortable silence they used to share here in Castle Black and later in Winterfell. 

"You asked why I came here. I came here for you", she says. "I want you to come home. Bran agrees. He sent a raven."

He is surprised, really. But what he says is: "What did the letter say?"

"Bring him home if he wants to." If he wants to. It's not about what he wants, he thinks. But about what he deserves. 

"This is my home now". It's a lie and judging by the look she gives him she knows that all too well. Castle Black has not felt like a home for him for a long time. Not after he had been stabbed by his own brothers. Now there was nothing and no one left. No Sam, Edd, no Pyp, no Grenn. There were new brothers, yes, but no one had seen what he had seen. No one had been at the Fist of the First men or in Hardhome. 

Sansa draws out a breath. She stands up, walks a stop closer to the fireplace and looks into the flames. 

"If you don't want to come home, then don't. But don't refuse because you think you need to be punished. You were punished enough."

"How was I punished? Be being sent here?" His voice is louder that he anticipated. 

Sansa turns around, looking him in the eye, determined.

"You gave your life for the watch already", she says. "They killed you."

"Aye. I was dead. I should be dead."

"And you were brought back. Surely not to fade away at a wall that no one needs anymore."

"I served my purpose. The Night King is dead. Daenerys is dead."

She takes a step towards him. 

"That means that you should bee free at last. The last time we were here you said you were tired of fighting. But that was not the time you could stop fighting. No it is. Come home."

Jon gets up from the chair. He turnes his back to her, looking out of the window. There are snowflakes, light ones, not heavy ones like in winter, illuminated by the light that comes from the window.

The truth is, Jon is still fighting in his head. He recalls the events in King's Landing over and over again. What had he done wrong? What could he have done differently? What could he have changed, so that if would have come to this massacre, to the murder of his Queen. 

Because no matter how much he thinks about it: After the sacking of King's Landing and Daenerys speech that she would not stop, would never stop, he saw no other way that to stop her himself. Like he had done. A year had passed, maybe if another nine years passed he would see things differently, like Tyrion thought. Now he didn't. He didn't have a choice. The thought hurts.

Part of that has to with Sansa. He hasn't forgiven him for spilling his secret, not really. Maybe if she hadn't, Daenerys might not have gone mad. You don't really think that, a voice in his head, not unlike Sansas tells him, whenever this thought comes. No, he doesn't. But that didn't mean he isn't angry. 

"Why did you betray me? What did you think you would gain?" he asks, suddenly changing the subject.

"I meant what I said to Tyrion. You were better than her. You are." Her voice is soft. 

"I killed her. I am a murderer." He hears her steps behind him. 

"Jon, look at me", Sansa says. She grabs him by the shoulder, turning him around. She looks angry. 

"She killed millions of innocent people, Jon. Not only here in Westeros, but in Essos too. She left a path of destrucion in her wake. She wouldn't have stopped."

"Maybe I could have stopped her."

Her eyebrows rise, there's a twitch in the corner of her mouth. "How?" she asks. "By loving her?" 

"Don't mock me."

She presses her lips together. 

"Tyrions guidance didn't stop her. Your love didn't stop her. That's why you killed her. She would have killed you. Before she would have killed all of us. You know that."

Jon does. Somehow he does. Sansa is right. But she should have seen Daenerys, the way she came flying to his rescue when he was trapped on that little island beyond the wall, he thinks. Daenerys had been more than a beacon of hope. She was glorious. Without her and Rhaegal and Drogon they never would have defeated the Night King. 

Sansa didn't see Daenerys trying to be a good ruler. To form plans that hurt as few people as possible. She didn't see her trying to be patient and being disappointed over and over again. She didn't see her pain when she lost Visierion, or when she spoke about not being able to have human children. There was a lot to love about Daenerys Targaryen. 

And a lot to fear. 

Sansa is wrong in one point, Jon thinks. Daenerys would have killed her before she would have killed him. She would have caused another war, the North never would have accepted her. A war Westeros would not have recovered from. 

But Jon never had the choice to have ruled over Westeros in her stead. She Daenerys made it clear to him over and over again that it was her throne not his. But no matter how often he told her, that he didn't want the Crown, she didn't belive him. And for that, Sansa hat some responsibility. She didn't believe him either, he thinks. 

"I never wanted the Iron Throne", Jon says.

"Sometimes it's not about what you want. It's about duty. You know that better than anyone." 

"And you think I should have stolen the Crown from her."

"It would have been rightfully yours. She should have given it to you", she says. "And I meant it before. You would have been better. You are good at ruling. Don't laugh."

It's a bitter laugh, he admits. 

"I don't have anything to rule over now, have I."

She steps back to their chairs. Takes a sip from his Ale. She's not coughing this time. 

"Dou you know that Robb made you his heir before he died? Bran told me."

Jon is silent for a moment. Mentions of Robb always makes his chest hurt. 

"Because he thought Bran and Rickon were dead. Arya was lost and you were married to a Lannister", he retorts. 

"It's because what he saw in you. It's the same what I see in you. You are not my father's son but you were raised by him and you are so much like him. You are just, and noble, and ..." she pauses, her brows forming a frown. "Come back to Winterfell with me. Help me rule."

"And what should I do there exactly? I thought you already chose your Hand."

She turns around again.

"I did. But that doesn' mean that there's no place for you at home." she says. 

Home. What a sweet thought to go home. Too bad he never will. 

When Jon doesn't answer Sansa speaks. "Let's discuss this another time. Tomorrow. It's late."

"Well then", he makes a step to the door. "Goodnight, your Grace."

"I wish you would stop calling me that."

"Goodnight Sansa then."

"Goodnight Jon."

He walks to the door, already touching the handle when she speaks his name once more. Softly. 

"Promise me to think about it. Really think about it." 

He nods.

The cold hits him in the face like a fist. The court of Castle Black lies deserted in the dark, no one to be seen but Sansas guard who's gripping his coat tighter around him to shield him from the chilling winds.

She's holding back something, Jon thinks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was looking for a picture of the weirwood tree in Winterfell but couldn't find one. So the comparison with the tree beyond the wall might be a bit off.

III. Sansa

She knows he won't say yes right away. Maybe not ever. But she is determined to ask him anyway. 

They meet again after breakfast. The Queen in the North takes her meal in the Lord Commander's chambers together with her maid. Jon, the watcher on the wall, among his brothers in the dining hall. Sansa would like to go to the top of the Wall again. The view is unparalleled to anything else she has even seen. But more than that she wants to see the weirwood tree behind the wall, the one where Jon took his oath. Her guards are sceptical at first but Jon and Lord Commander Potter, that sweet and surprisingly sharp boy, reassure them that a visit to the nearby woods bears no risk for the Queen. After all, they made peace with the wildings, or free folk as they call themselves. And they take Ghost with them. No wild beasts would dare to attack them with a direwolf at their side. 

Jon looks better than yesterday, Sansa thinks. He clearly had a bath and a shaving. His hair is tamed by a bun on the back of his head. Just like he used to wear it before he went to King's Landing. Sansa likes it better wild.

He still looks haunted though, a bit thinner than he used to be, and sad. Defeated. But he's still Jon with his broad shoulders, with this serious look on his face, his full lips and those dark eyes, almost black. 

She is walking with him, trailing behind the guards. She instructed them with a mere look and a gesture of her hand that they shoud go ahead. The stay always within sight of couse, but they leave the two of them alone. One of them is behind her, she knows, but not within listening range.

"About your offer ..." he says.

"Don't give me your answer yet," she interrupts him quickly. 

He remains silent after that. They walk side by side through the woods. There is still snow lying on the floor and the sun draws patterns of dark and bright shapes shining through the trees. The woods are not unlike the ones around Winterfell. A bit quieter maybe. 

Sansa doesn't know how to start. She knows what she wants to say to him but she doesn't want it to sound rehearsed and so she decides to wait until they see the godswood. She hopes the red-leaved trees will make her feel more at home and less nervous.

But she can't stay still, there are too many things on her mind. It was too long since they have spoken opingly with each other. 

"Don't be angry with me, Jon, about sharing your secret", she says, giving him a sideway glance. His face remains unreadable. 

"A secret your father kept all his life." She hears the accusation as well as the "your" before the word father.

"Maybe he shouldn't have", Sansa says, sounding more bitter than she wants. "Maybe if he had told mother she would have treated you better. And if he had told you, groomed you and collected evidence in your favour he might mave convinced the other lords in King's Landing after Robert's death that you should inherit the Throne, not a child born out of incest." She pauses. "He might have kept his head", she says. 

"You really believe that?"

"No", she admids. Not the second part at least. Tywin Lannister would have known how to prohibit such a coup. "There wasn't enough time. And father was not powerful enough."

"You're angry with him", Jon notices. 

"I'm angry at the world sometimes", she admids. 

The weirwood tree comes into sight. At first glance it looks nothing like that at home. His mouth is wide open, he seems to scream in pain. The one back in Winterfell looks peaceful in comparison. Still, there are the same red leaves, the same energy. Old and familiar. 

It's time, she thinks.

"Do you know that Littlefinger used to tease me with you?" she asks. "He was telling me how beautiful Daenerys was. Implying that you might marry her. He tested me. I didn't understand then but I do now. He wanted to know what I felt towards you."

Jon shifts uncomfortably, not looking at her but taking a step towards the tree, touching a branch. 

If you don't like this then wait for what's to come, Sansa thinks. 

"You asked about the position you would have if you came back to Winterfell."

"Aye." 

"I want you at my side. As my husband", she says. Her hands tremble slightly. Jon turns around, his eyes wide. She raises her right hand, signals him to hear her out. "You will have to title, you will not be King. You will take my name as will our children. You will make no claim on any lands in the south and you will promise that you will never travel below the neck. But you will be home and have a family. Be a Stark after all."

He just looks at her. He's in shock, she thinks. 

"Marriage?" he exclaims. "You're my sister."

"No, I'm not."

No, she was not. 

"We were raised as siblings."

"I didn't see you as my brother then, not really. And I don't do that now."

Jon doesn't give an answer to that. Did he see still her as sister after he found out about his real parents? Just as sister? He must, she thinks. At least for now.

"But ... You can't be short of suitors", he says.

"Yes. Old men and cowards and boys younger than Rickon would be now."

"Boys grow to become men", he says. She knows he is thinking of Margaery Tyrell and King Tommen. How easily she would have manipulated him. 

"I will not leave the North in the hands of a boy King should something happen to me", she says. It's not even half the truth. He doesn't oppose her comment. As if he knows. 

Or maybe he's just stunned. 

"Why on earth would you want to marry me?" he says. "I have nothing. No lands, no title, no army, no gold, no allies. I am a broken man, Sansa." The way he says her name makes the back of her neck prickle. He says it like a plea.

Sansa takes a step closer to Jon but she doesn't touch him.

"I have a Crown. I have lands. Allegiances can be forged through my children. Our children." 

"Why me? You can have any man in Westeros. Not all of them are too old or too young. Why would you choose me?"

Her thoughts go back to the day they took back Winterfell. When she entered the courtyard of her family home she saw Jon kneeling next to the man that had raped her, had tortured her, that had humiliated her every way he could. And Jon beat him to a pulp. He was doing the very thing she wanted to do herself but could not. A Lady never makes her hands dirty. Not like this. 

It was Ramsay's fault, really. 

Because Ramsay made sure Sansa would never trust anyone new ever again. No one outside her family and old friends. So that left only two men in this entire world that Sansa would rely on. One of them said he was not a man anymore and the other was standing right in front of her. And she loves him. 

She doesn't know how to put all of her feelings into words without scaring him off. So she settles for something that does not tell all but that's true anyway. 

"I don't think I can be happy with anyone else", she says.

He looks at her like he has never seen her before. She has to avert his gaze. 

Sansa was prepared that he would be surprised but a small part of her had hoped it would be a pleasant surprise for him. 

Still looking a the weirwood tree, at this gaping hole of a mouth in agony, she completes the part of the speech she prepared. 

"What I said about my other offer applies to this one too. Don't give me your answer yet. Come to Winterfell", she says. She doesn't want him to send a raven. Not after a question like this. "But really think about it."

She turns around, daring to look at him at last.

"And Jon", she says. "I will still pardon you if you want. Even if you don't want to marry me."

He clears his throat. 

"I promise I will think about it", he says. 

She walks past him, not looking at him. The cold is burning in her eyes. They don't speak on their way back to the gate. In Castle Black they behave like nothing happened. An outsider would see no difference in their behavior, but for a few tentative looks. 

Jon parts in the morning. He doesn't want Tormund to wait too long. His goodbye hug is careful somehow as if Sansa was made of glass all of a sudden. 

"I will see you at Winterfell", he says, before riding through the gate under the wall and out of her sight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jons thinks about Sansas offers all the time, about both of them. A part of him is suspicious about her intentions. Is he part of a bigger plan of hers? No, she would not do that to him. She had lied to him before but then they had promised to trust each other. Those are doubts Danenerys had planted, who always thought Sansa was a manipulator. But he knows Sansa. She wasn't the girl from his childhood anymore but she wasn't Littlefinger either. 
> 
> The only conclusion was that she really meant to marry him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I wanted to update sooner but I was on holiday :)

IV. Jon

Jon is deep inside the lands beyond the wall, standing atop the Fist of the First Men looking at the Skirling Past. This landscape never ceases to awe him. The roughness of the mountains, the brightness of this world in white. Beautiful. And deadly. How many brothers had died on the Fist? He doesn't know.

But even here in this land of seemingly never ending winter you could feel that spring had come. No, there would grow no crops, the snow and ice would not melt entirely but the sun is considerably warmer now. 

Tormund is behind him, jesting with one of the spear wives he has brought. They had planned to go deep into the Haunted Forest to prepare a mission up to the far north when summer comes. They wanted to go up the source of the Milkwater river and leave emergency provisions there for a longer expedition further into to north, to the Land of Always Winter. 

Jon wants to know if there is anything of the White Walkers left. If there is a possibility that they might come back. Bran had mentioned something but even he was not sure, because ravens didn't fly to the Land of Always Winter. So someone should probably go take a look. Someone who's not terribly missed if he doesn't return. 

But the mission would have to bee postponed, Jon had decided. They would leave wapons and food here in the ruins of the Fist and go back. To go further would mean he would be gone for a few months at least and he doesn't want to keep Sansa waiting. 

Even if he doesn't know what to tell her. 

He thinks about her offers all the time, about both of them. A part of him is suspicious about her intentions. Is he part of a bigger plan of hers? No, she would not do that to him. She had lied to him before but then they had promised to trust each other. Those are doubts Danenerys had planted, who always thought Sansa was a manipulator. But he knows Sansa. She wasn't the girl from his childhood anymore but she wasn't Littlefinger either. 

The only conclusion was that she really meant to marry him. 

In a way she was right, they could marry. It was right by law. 

He doubted that he was a sensible match though.

She obviously didn't see him as brother. The thought stings a litte, makes him feel put back once more. Ever the bastard. But on the other hand she trusts him enough and values him enough to consider him to be her husband. Doesn't that weight even more?

He saw Sansa as his sister, at least until now. Not a sister like Arya. Sansa and Jon were always more distant, more cautious around each other, especially when they were children. But even after they met again at Castle Black and took back the north there was tension beetween them that was never there with Arya. Jon had always assumed that it was sibling rivalry or Sansas ambition. Maybe he was wrong, maybe this tension sprung from a very different source. Maybe Daenerys had been right in her jealousy all along. 

There were moments when he wished Sansa wasn't his sister. When they fought, mostly. But not only then.

He remembered the night after he had been chosen King. There had been a feast of course and everybody had celebrated. Sansa too, but it was only after that slimy bastard Littlefinger, who always seemed to lurk somewhere near her, had excused himself that she had seemed to relax. Looked happy even. She was glowing that night, her cheeks red from wine and the heat of the great hall that was crowded with notherners, men and women alike. So much like the feasts they had when they were children. 

Sansa was talking to Lords and that Ladys, bannermen and maids, swarming through the room, smiling at everyone. She was the very image of a Lady of Winterfell. Sometimes she caught his eye and beamed at him. 

This night he forgot all his worries for a few hours. Thanks to all the Ale and to that smile of hers. The north was theirs again. And he was a King now, suddenly the world was wide open to him. He never asked to be King, sure, but now that he had been chosen the things that had been denied to him suddenly seemed possible. Like sitting on the table that was reserved for the Stark family at feats. 

And for a fleeting second, just a second, he had wished that beautiful, radiant, smart Sansa was not his sister but his wife. A thought he quicky put away in a dark place in the back of his mind. 

The part of Jon that is always locked. Behind a closed door is his mind there is a hidden chamber filled with wishes and dreams he is not supposed to have. Firmly blocked by a wall of heavy stones so that they can never escape and give him hopes that would be crushed anyway. 

It is the part that dreamt about being Lord of Winterfell himself one day. A dangerous and selfish dream, that shouldn't be dreamed for it meant that his brothers and sisters were dead. It's the part that wished he would have a family himself. A son or a daughter he would love and whom he would teach just like Ned Stark taught him. A wife, who would love him for who he was not for his name. A home where he didn't feel like an outsider.

He knew that these dreams could never come true for he was a bastard. So it was better that he never dreamt them at all. That he would lock them firmy away. When he was King the door to that hidden room of his had been open, just a crack, for a little while. 

He's not a King anymore, he is exiled, Jon thinks while he is standing there staring at the wide open of the lands they call the real north. But now Sansa has has come to him. She has swept away the stones that blocked the entrance to his hidden chamber of dreams with her delicate hands. Turned the key of the door and now this room inside Jon stands white open, illuminated by her bright eyes.

She's giving him a choice. All he has to do is say yes. 

Tormund snaps him out of his thoughts. The big wildling pets on his shoulder. It almost doesn't hurt.

"You look like your balls froze off, little crow", he says. "Should I ask Wanda to warm them up for you."

Jon smiles.

"No need", he says. He hesitates. "I can't go to further north. I need to go back. If you want to go on without me, do. Or you wait 'till I come back."

"Did you leave someone in your bed at Castle Black then?"

He considers for a moment, decides to tell the truth, a part of it at least. What does it matter if someone knows here? And besides, Tormund is his friend. One of the few he's got and the only one up here. 

"Queen Sansa came to visit. She wants to pardon me. She wants me to come home."

"I understand, little crow", Tormund says, putting an arm over his shoulder. "She's not your sister anymore, right? Is she in need of some frostbitten balls then, hm?" 

Tormund ruffles his hair with his free hand. Sometimes he understands things better than Jon thinks. 

"It's not about that", he says firmly.

"You'll make pretty babies, the two of you. With pretty hair", Tormund says, pulling him closer. "But if you're not interested, she can always come to me. Together with the big woman."

Jon frees himself from Tormunds half-hug. The wildling looks at him, suddenly serious. Jon half expects him to insult Sansa further but instead he says: "She really did, didn't she? Ask you to come to her bed?" 

Jon doesn't answer. 

"Why are you up here and not with her then? Is it because of the dragon woman?" Tormund asks. "She was pretty, alright, but mad as hell. Told everyone she wanted to free people. But really she wanted everyone to kneel. I don't like that."

Jon doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to discuss his inner turmoils with Tormund who considers crawling into the bed of a giantess while she's sleeping is a great romantic victory. The moral standards of the wildlings, they are very different from the ones Ned Stark had lived by. He wishes Sam was here. But he's in King's Landing with the other men who might understand, Davos and Tyrion. 

So Jon just sighs and begins to unload. Bags of dragon glass that was left after the Battle of Winterfell. Some dried meat and two skins filled with strong alcohol, that he tries to keep out of Tormunds sight. He brought them to flush wounds if need be not for drinking. 

"Southeners", Jon hears Tormund mutter behind him. "Always fighting and punishing each other. Where's the fun in that?"

"We set camp here", Jon says. "I'll ride back tomorrow."

For that he earns another pat on the back, one that makes him stumble.

"Suit yourself, Snow." 

At night he tries to put Sansa on the back of his mind again but of course she comes to occupy his thoughts when he's lying in his furs in the dark, Tormund snoring peacefully - and veryl loudly - next to him, one arm around that wildling woman he called Wanda. Above them there are millions of stars. He used to stare up to them when he was up here beyond the wall with Ygritte, wondering about the future. 

If he says no Sansa will choose someone else, he knows. Someone who would be a better match. A real Lord, chivalrous and charming, not some brooding bastard-turned-prince-turned-outcast. The thought bothers him, he has to admid. Not like before when they were children, when he always assumed she would end up with a man like Joffrey Baratheon anyway. A golden boy, rich and shallow. Now that has changed. When he sees Sansa in his mind he doesn't picture her with a young gallant knight anymore. No. The man he sees at her side now is no other than himself. 

It's probably just because the two of them have been ruling Winterfell together before, Jon thinks, heart beating strangely fast. 

In the distance he hears Ghost howling. It's late. Sun will be up soon, Jon knows. He should try to get some sleep.

Because he won't find the answer here on the First of the First men, he knows. Not before he has seen Sansa again. Because there is one thing he has to do before he can decide what to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So ... here is the new chapter. Enjoy!

VI. Sansa

"Rider approaching", one of the guards shout. "An man alone. Someone from the night's watch."

Sansa walks up to the gallery above the main gate even though she knows exactly who the rider is. She ist tempted to take a leaf out of Queen Cerseis book and get herself a cup of wine to calm her nerves but of course she doesn't. 

Jon comes with an answer. 

But there's no telling what his answer will be. He is riding neither fast nor slow. His clothes give nothing away. As usual he is dressed in black. His hair is tied back once again, but that's no telling sign either. 

When he rides through the gate she walks down to the main court to greet him. He doesn't spot her at once, his eyes searching for her in the crowd. Winterfell is bursting. There are twice as many people in the castle as usual. Lord Manderly pays her a visit and he brought half his household with him. Including wagons of food for when it comes to eating he is insatiable. But she likes the fat and rich Lord from White Harbour. He is funny and smart. And he will be useful. The feasts tire her out though. He's been here for a more than a week and every night they dine and celebrate for hours.

Finally, Jon sees her. 

"Your Grace. Sansa." After he bows he pulls her into a hug. It's a little tentative, but not like the one at Castle Black. It's telling her neither yes or no though. 

"Welcome", she says. Not adding the word home. Not yet. 

Jon looks different. There is a gleam in his eyes, one that wasn't here before. He is smiling (smiling!). Most likely because everybody is smiling at him. He ist greeted like a long lost son. There are men clapping on his shoulder, children tugging at his clothes. "Lord Snow", Sansa hears people say. "It's good to have you back." She was not the only one who missed him, Sansa is pleased. 

She can't help but smile too. 

Once again Jon proves to her that he is a Stark in all but name when the next thing he does is ask her if he could visit the graves of his ancestors in the crypts. Just like father would have. 

"Of course", she says. 

She accompanies him down the steps. Her eyes are slowly adjusting to the twilight in the crypts, making out the statues of her dead family.

Going to the crypts was difficult after what happened here in the Long Night, but Sansa forced herself to and it gets easier every time. The dead won't come back a second time, she tells herself. 

"Lord Manderly is here on a visit", she informs Jon casually. "He'll be happy to see you."

"We'll see." Jon might have doubts but Sansa hasn't forgotten that Manderly was the first one after Lyanna Mormont who called him King. He still speaks very highly of Jon. This is one of the reasons why Sansa invited him. She wants to strengthen their bond and make sure he is on her side in case Jon really says yes. If he ever does. That Jon arrived today while Manderlay is visiting is lucky timing. 

Jon stops in front of the statue of Lyanna Stark. His mother. Even chiseled in stone she is stunning. 

Sansa put an candle in her aunt's hand the day before. It's still burning. 

She understands better now why her father went to the crypts often. It is one of the few places she is left alone. And one of the few places she allowes herself to be sad sometimes. 

"I wish I could remember more of the stories about her", Jon says, looking at Lyannas face. Ned Stark never spoke about his sister, neither did Uncle Benjen when he stayed in Winterfell. But others shared stories about her wild and beautiful aunt. The girl who broke up an empire. 

"I think she was a lot like Arya", Sansa says.

"Aye. But Arya didn't run off with a married prince."

"She might have. If she was betrothed to Robert Baratheon."

"Robert was not that bad."

"As a husband yes. He was that bad."

"How do you know", he asks and gives the answer himself. "Cersei."

"He was one of the reasons she became like this."

"You still admire her."

"I try to understand her", Sansa says. "Besides, you shouldn't defend Robert. He would have had you killed if he knew who your parents were. Whether or not father was his best friend."

"Thankfully no one knew." Does he sound bitter? She can't tell.

"I think Littlefinger suspected. He came to me once here in the crypts and told me about the tournament of Harrenhal", Sansa says. Rhaegar had given Lyanna winter roses, she recalled. Blue as frost. "The way he smiled when I told him Lyanna was kidnapped. As if he knew better. Maybe that's why he teased me with you. He knew we weren't siblings after all." 

Jon walks on to her father's statue. "He teased me too, Littlefinger. Down here. Told me he loved you", he tells her.

Sansa steps beside him. She can't read his face, half hidden in the shadows.

"I told him I'd kill him if he ever touched you." Jon chuckles and Sansas is happy that it's so dark in the crypts for her cheeks must be bright red. 

"Well, you did't have to. Arya and I handled him for you", she teases him. "And he didn't touch me." He tried though. Kissed her. But she doesn't tell him that. It's in the past now. 

"And you were right to execute him. He sold you to a monster." 

He turns to her side, looks at her. 

"I came to give you an answer", he says. "But before I can do that there are some things I need to know." 

Sansa wants to tell him that she will answer all of his questions but suddenly she hears steps. Yohn Royce appears down at the stairs. 

"Your Grace?" Royce calls into the twilight of the cave. 

"Coming." Then she turns to face Jon. She lays a hand on his arm. 

"We'll talk", she tells him. "After the feast." 

"Aye", he says. "Go on. You're needed. I'll stay down here for a bit." 

She lets go of him and walks towards Royce. The Queen in the North might be left alone in the cryps, but never for long. Duty always calls. 

* * * 

She was right about Lord Manderly. He is thrilled to see Jon. 

"What are you doing here", he cries, when he sees Jon and claps him on his shoulders.

"I'm here on behalf of the Watch. To negotiate with the Queen about food rations." Jon gives Sansa a sideway glance. It's not exactly a lie, that is his official mission.

"And that couldn't be done with letters?" Manderly asks looking at Sansa. He is sharp, she knows. Sharper than he appears to be. 

"The Lord Commander hoped I could get a better deal with the Queen in person", Jon says. Cheeky, she thinks.

"We will see about that", she says but smiles. 

They don't talk much after that. Manderly is occupying Jon almost exclusively at the feast. Almost, because there is a continuous line of men and women greeting their former King, who is sitting between herself and Manderly. Everyone wants to drink with him and when the last course is served Sansa suspects that Jon must be in his cups already. 

Sansa doesn't mind that Jon has no time for her. She likes the look on his face when people come to him or when Manderly pats him on the shoulder. Flattered and somehow shy. So very much Jon. She could stare at him all night, but she is busy herself. After her dinner she visits the tables of all the present nobles and also the commoners and makes sure everybody knows that she is happy about Jons visit. That she is loyal to him. 

She almost misses him slipping out, glancing back at her. They make eye contact and suddenly Sansa feels all the wine she drank that evening. She waits a few minutes before she excuses herself and takes a different way out to the courtyard so no one will suspect. 

She finds him next to the forge, staring at the wooden headless torso that he, Robb and Theon used to practice swordfighting with. Reynald Cassel, her master-at-arms and the nephew of their old master Rodrik Cassel, found it the other day and thought it useful. 

"Here you are."

He turns around, startled. He is a bit drunk, she can tell. Some of his his hair came loose from that bun and there is a curl tucked behind his right ear. His cheeks are reddened from the alcohol and the heat of the feast and so are his lips. Pretty, some of her friends had called him back before they parted ways. She had rolled her eyes at them then, but now she thinks they were right. He is pretty. Beautiful even in his own way. 

"Didn't know that old thing still existed", he says, pointing at the torso. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing scars on his forearms. Out here it is not as hot as inside but not exactly cold either. Summer will be here soon. 

"The children practice with it. Like you used to."

He touches the wood but says nothing. Sansa can hear crickets chirping and the sound of talk and laughter from the great hall. 

"What did you mean to ask me?"

He leans back on the fence and looks at her.

"You once told me to I had to be smarter than Robb", he says. "How is marrying me smarter than him marrying that girl from the Essos?"

"What do you mean?"

"He insulted the Freys with that marriage. He affronted other families. He wasted an opportunity to make allies. It cost him his head. You're a Queen. You can't just marry anyone. Your match must be smart. Not only for you but for all the north. We just got our freedom back, you can't risk it again."

"I am a Queen, yes. So in some ways I can do as I please. You are well liked in the north, as you could see tonight. The north chose you as their ruler once. They will accept you at my side." 

"Yara Greyjoy hates me for what I did. And the south? They despise me."

"You don't matter to Dorne, Prince Martell doesn't want to marry me anyway. Bran may not support us but he will never side with someone against us either. And Yara Greyjoy will come around."

"She won't."

"How do you know?"

"I spent time with her on Dragonstone. If she holds a grudge she will come fighting."

"I don't think she will", she objects. "I already made her an offer. And if she refuses I will handle her. As I will with anyone else. I thought this through, Jon." There are risks, he is right, but she already worked out some shemes. 

"I still don't see why marrying me is smart", Jon says. 

He is so stubborn, Sansas thinks. Her patience wears thin. Did she not explain herself already? 

"What do you want me to say?" she asks. That she is afraid of marrying again? That she doesn't want to be in any man's bed? And if she has to, she wants to be in his because she trusts him more than anyone else. Loves him even. Maybe not the passionate love that made people do stupid things like steal the bride of another man. But love nonetheless. 

"With you I feel safe", she says. 

"Safe", he repeats. "You deserve better."

"You are better."

This time he doesn't object. He just stares at her with this big dark eyes. What is he looking for? 

"There is a question you cannot answer with words", Jon says and with that he slowly takes a step to her. He gently cups her chin with his hand and kisses her. 

It's her first kiss like this. Not a peck on the lips to satisfy the audience of a forced marriage, not a test of one's loyalty, certainly not the demonstration of power and dominance over someone who has nowhere to flee to. 

It is a sweet kiss. His soft, full lips on hers, his mouth slightly open, not exploring hers, not yet. It is a kiss that asks if there could be more. More kisses. More than kisses. 

And Sansa feels Jon's kiss in her whole body. Her belly grows warmer and warmer and she wishes his tongue would touch hers. Wishes she would dare to reach up to his locks and free them. She wants to lean in, touch him, being touched by him. 

She musters her courage, moves forward and puts her hand on his chest. She can feel his warmth. And then there they are, his arms around her, pulling her closer. He opens his mouth and she is tasting the sweet dornish wine they had served at the feast and something else. Something that is uniquely Jon. 

The hotness in her body grows, running down from her mouth straight between her legs. She wants to be closer to him, much, much closer. 

Crack.

At the sound they stop at once, breaking the kiss, nearly jumping apart. 

How reckless for a Queen, to kiss a man from the Night's Watch in her own courtyard, she thinks. How can she explain what they did?

And then they see it. A cat, running away from them. It must have jumped down from the attic. A cat. Just a cat. She wants to laugh. 

Sansa looks at Jon. She's panting. And so is he. She needs a moment to regain her composure. 

Do you still see me as sister, she wants to ask. What she says is: "Is the answer to your satisfaction?" 

He's looking at her, smiling. She notices she herself is smiling too. 

"Aye", he says. "I still don't think I deserve to be pardoned. Or to marry the Queen in the North. But if you really want this I will."

"I do." She's serious now. 

"But I will keep my name."

"Which one?" she asks.

"The bastard's name of couse."

She can't help but break into a wide grin. 

"It's settled then," she says. 

"Aye."

He takes her hand, squeezes it lightly. For a few steps they walk hand in hand. Then they make their way back to the feast, each on their own. 

Neither of them notice the maid and the stable boy that have been trying to sneak past them and who now glance at each other.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There you are. You have a visitor." It's not a pleasant visit, Sansa can tell by the look on Yohn Royce's face.

VII. Sansa

Words travel fast in Westeros. On dark wings they fly to the south and to the west, to the north and to the east, to remote islands and castles in sky high mountains. There they unfold, become whispers at first, passed around in dark corners before they become the source of gossip and even laughter.

The Winter Queen, those words say, beds the Killer of the Dragon Queen who used to be her brother.

Words travel back to Winterfell. Words Sansa doesn't like. Rumours going around and after a very long time she feels helpless again.

John Royce is furious when she tells him that parts of this rumours are true. They are in her study, doors and windows closed despite the warm weather. The list of names of potential marriage candidates still lies on the table. Jon's name was never on it.

"You cannot pardon him. Let alone marry him." Royce yells. This is more complicated than the thought, Sansa must admit.

"I can and I will." She is the Queen after all.

"There are Lords, real Lords lining up who beg you to marry them. Lords with lands, titles, power. Why would you give that up? And what about the Vale?"

"You forget your place, my Lord. You are my advisor, not my father."

Royce clears his throat. "And I try to give you advice, your Grace. I see that there is a certain ... appeal to Jon Snow. But I don't think you make a wise choice."

"I want my children to have his blood."

"Targaryen blood." Sansa ist tempted to remind him that not so long ago Targayren blood meant royal blood and everyone wished a drop of dragon blood would run in their veines. But she doesn't want to focus on Jons Targaryen side. He once rode a dragon but that dragon is dead. He has never really been a Targaryen. He's always been a wolf.

"Blood of the north", she says. "You would not be here without him. No one of us were."

"Jon Snow is a good man, to be sure ..."

Sansa cuts Royce of.

"And surely you agree that the Queen in the North deserves a good man."

"Of course, your Grace."

"It's settled then." She turns her back to him. Looking through the letters, but seeing only half of the words. There are a lot of them, and not many of them are very friendly.

"We need a date. Please write to the Lord Commander and ask how soon he will be able to spare my cousin. And we need a list of wedding guests."

"Yes, your Grace." Royce makes his way to the door, but hesitates. "One note. Jon Snow is a very lucky man." With that her Hand leaves.

Lucky? Jon would disagree, Sansa thinks.

She sighs and goes through the letters again. Most of them "hope the rumours are untrue", that she would not dare to choose "a man exiled to the wall", a "man who killed his aunt" over their "noble sons of the real North". One of them really wrote the word "bastard".

Sansa puts her quill into her inkpot. She will weave threats into flatteries. She will remind them what "that man" did to save Winterfell and the North. To save all living souls. Remind them that they owe "this man" and that they owe her.

It's tedious work.

She had a letter from Bran too. "It will cause some trouble, but nothing you cannot handle." Not a word if he approves. He's probably above such mundane things like marriage, Sansa thinks. She expects Arya to be furious when she hears. If she hears. But it's too late to back out now. Even if she could she wouldn't want to.

Not after this kiss. Her cheeks grow warm when she just thinks about it and so does her belly.

Sansa tries not to think about it too much.

Most of the time she just goes on with her life as if nothing happened. Attends to her duties. Oversees the last repairs of the castle. Watches the training of the boys and the girls (she made sure of that) with the Master-at-Arms in the courtyard. Walks to the crypts and to the godswood. She really is praying in front of the Weirwood tree now. Let the storm blow over.

One afternoon, the day after her fight with Royce, she finds her Hand nervously looking around in the courtyard when she comes back from the godswood.

"There you are. You have a visitor." It's not a pleasant visit, Sansa can tell by the look on Royce's face.

"Who is it?"

"Yara Greyjoy, your Grace. She's very ... agitated."

"Send her to my solar. Let the maid bring us some wine, bread and cheese. I will meet her there shortly."

Sansa walks to her bedchamber, slowly. She needs a moment to steel herself. Jon was right after all, she thinks. It's a good thing she is already listening to him.

When she comes to her solar Yara Greyjoy sits in her chair by the fireplace. She's leaning back, her feet are on the table that stands nearby in case Sansa has to write letters in the evening. She is wearing trousers as usual. Her hair is shorter than it used to be. It makes her look older and so do the dark rings under her eyes.

Sansa has only seen Theon's sister once, when they both were in King's Landing for Jons joke of a trial. She was the only one of the Westerosi who sided with the Unsullied and wanted him dead. Sitting in the middle of a city almost burned to the ground Yara Greyjoy had still defended that madwoman with her dragons. One could still the smell of burning flesh in the air that day.

No matter how much she had loved Theon, Sansa had no love for Yara Greyjoy or for the Iron Islanders. She sometimes wondered that they still existed. They always appeared to be on the verge of killing each other off for good.

"Lady Greyjoy, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit", Sansa says sweetly, knowing fully well that adressing her this way will make her mad. Better making her mad now, to know the full extent of her fury. Sansa can work with that.

"You know very well what brings me here, your Grace". Greyjoy almost spits out the last part.

"I have no idea", Sansa lies, keeping her face perfectly still.

"Jon fucking Snow!" Yara Greyjoy jumps up and walks around the chair, confronting Sansa. "Do you really bed him? The noble Lady of Winterfell and the bastard. What a joke."

"I plan to marry him, yes. The other part is just a rumour. And haven't you heard? He's not a bastard after all."

"He should have lost his head long ago. Along with his cock." Yara Greyjoy steps closer to Sansa. Dangerously close. "If you really pull this through I will come with all my force. I will burn Winterfell to the ground."

Sansa takes a step to the side and walks to the table where the wine and the bread and cheese stands. She pours two cups of wine, hands Yara Greyjoy one.

"You will do no such thing", she says. She doesn't tell Yara that she thinks Winterfell would withstand an attack from the reamining Iron Islanders with ease now that the castle has been repaired and improved. "You will take my offer. I made you a very good price for a lot of wood for a lot of ships. I hear you need them. I hear there are men who would rather see you dead than follow you."

"You hear a lot of things."

"I also hear where these men are hiding. Planning their coup."

With that Sansa has Yara Greyjoys undivided attention. The Queen in the north sits down in front of the fireplace and so does the other woman.

"And where would that be?"

Sansa ignores the question. "I know what it's like to rule over men. Not everyone accepts a woman. We should stick together, you and I. If some men plan to murder their rightful ruler within the borders of my lands I cannot let that happen, can I?"

"I hear you."

"But loyalty is not one-sided. If I back you I expect you to back me. Even if you don't like my decision."

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On if I find these men of not."

"Oh. You will. As soon as we seal our deal I will point you in the right direction."

Yara Greyjoy takes a sip of her wine. She's not entirely convinced, Sansa notices. She needs more persuading. But Sansa will not play her trump card yet. She knows Jon wouldn't like it and she will only use it if she really, really needs to.

"Jon could have killed Theon for what he did to my family, you know. It would have been his right to take revenge", Sansa says. It is a risk mentioning Jon and Yaras brother, she knows. They never liked each other very much. "Jon didn't. He forgave him and Theon rescued you."

"That's a sweet story. Do you tell it to yourself at night?"

"It's true. You know it. I know Iron Islanders don't like to forgive. But you should reconsider. Jon did the right thing."

"I still think he should rather be dead than in your bed."

Sansa stands up and pours some more wine in Yara Greyjoys cup. The woman drinks fast but Sansa expects her to have a high tolerance of alcohol like every Iron Islander she ever met. She sits down again, leans closer to her.

It's time to play the trump card. She won't convince her otherwise. Yara Greyjoy has nothing to lose but she does. They both know that.

"The dragon queen wanted to break the wheel", Sansa says. "I don't. I don't want to break things, enough have been broken. I want to build things. What do you want, Yara? To break or to build?"

"I am the last of the Greyjoys. What I build won't matter."

"Every ruler needs an heir or an heiress, true. Have you ever considered having a child yourseld?"

"It is impossible." She sounds final.

Sansa doesn't probe for more information. She knows about Yara Greyjoys tase in women of course. But that doesn't mean she could not have children herself, there were other women like her who did. There must be another reason. Maybe she already tried, Sansa thinks and makes a mental note to put one of her spies on it.

"Your brother was a very restless young man when he was here in Winterfell back when he was my father's warden", she says lightly. "I remember him vividly. The days he spend training in the yard with my brother and my cousin. And the nights? Sometimes he spent them in Winter Town. At times he took my brother but most of the time he went alone. But he didn't stay there alone of course. I hear that there is a child in Winter Town that dreams of ships and great adventures and has grey eyes just like his."

Jon would not like that, Sansa knows. But the girl she is referring to lives in a brothel. She was half starved when Sansas spies found her. Surely her life will be better once she knows she is Theons daughter. Sansa wished she would have found her sooner when Theon was still alive. But she only came across the girl recently.

"I was planning on grooming this child. And if it once chooses to join the family of it's father I will not stand in it's way."

Yara Greyjoy is surprised, Sansa can see it in her expression. And intrigued, she notices. That's exactly what she wanted.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm a Stark. You have my word."

"You were a Lannister once. And a Bolton. And you're about to become a Snow."

"I will always remain a Stark", Sansa says. "After I point you in the right direction and you find the traitors. Will you believe me then?"

"I will believe you if you show me this child."

"I cannot do that. You would consider to steal it and I don't want to tempt you," Sansa stands up again. "This child gets to choose."

"Why? We didn't."

"We are better than them, are we not? At least we try to be."

Yara Greyjoy gulps down the last of her wine.

"This child really exists?"

"Yes."

"These men who want me dead. What if it's a trap?"

"It's not." Sansa made sure. She has her whisperers. "What would I gain by sending you into a trap? I would have to deal with a mutineer, likely more unreasonable than you. Pyke would be unstable once again. What if they decide to raid the North again like they used to. I have no interest in that. I would rather have a good relationship with the current ruler of the Iron Islands. She seems to be reasonable."

Yara Greyjoy snorts. "You're smart. But you're blinded by love. The six kingdoms will never accept Jon Snow."

"The North will. The North remembers, they say. It will remember the night the Night's King came and the Starks and Jon Snow defeated them for good."

"If you think so."

"I know so." Sansa was not so sure about that but she didn't want Yara Greyjoy to know. She would not show weakness to the ruler of the Iron Islands, where they drowned people to show strength.

Yara Greyjoy pauses, thinking. What were here options? If Sansa was her she would take the deal, kill the mutineers and then see if she was right about Jon. If Yara was right indeed, if the Queen in the North had miscalculated and the North or the six kingdoms would not accept her marriage, then Yaras problem with Jon Snow with dissolve itself. If Sansa was right, Yara would still have the chance of an heir or an heiress. It was a win for Yara Greyjoy either way. Sansa didn't like that but the last thing she needed was an uprising in Pyke. Bran would hold her responsible for that as would others. It could even put her crown in jeopardy. So she had to give Yara Greyjoy more than she wants to. She doesn't have a choice.

Yara Greyjoy stands up.

"I decide to believe you", she says. "For now." She reaches out her hand and Sansa shakes it. She is relieved but she doesn't show that.

"Then we have a deal", Sansa says cooly.

"We have a deal."

Yara Greyjoy purs herself another cup of wine and drinks it in one go.

"So where are the traitors?" she asks.

"You want to leave now? It's dark already."

"I like to get things done."

"Very well. I'll show you to the stables. There is a man that will accompany you and point you in the right direction."

When Sansa comes into her bedchamber an hour later, she is tired. So very tired. A part of her wishes Jon was here already but course that is impossible now. Another part is glad he didn't witness her making a child part of a deal. But she would have taken the girl under her wings anyway, knowing she is Theons child. The fact that Yara Greyjoy no knows about her doesn't change that.

Still. She sees Jon before her, silently disapproving. He's a hero but she's a politician, she reminds herself. It sounds a little shallow.

On her bed lies yet another letter. The seal shows a lion. It's from Tyrion. He must have heard the rumours too, of course. She wondered why he hadn't written already.

Sansa is sure that it's the last thing she wants to read right now, but she breaks the seal and sits down in front of the fireplace. Yara Greyjoy is not the only one who likes to get things done.

_Your Grace, dear Sansa, _

_I should write that your choice is not your equal and that you should change your decision. But I am sure that you have given it great thought. Jon is not the best political choice, I'm sure you already know that. But he is a good man. He will give you the happiness you deserve. And if I may give your Grace some advice: act fast. And let them talk. _

_Yours, Tyrion, Hand to King Bran the Broken_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. If you did, I'm always happy about kudos and comments.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is a sight to bee seen. In black as usual, but with red and grey embroideries on his chest and sleeves. Big wolves, small dragons for his southern father and northern mother. His hair is bound back once again. He's standing perfectly still in a way that only Jon can, the direwolf Ghost at his side. 
> 
> "The White Wolf" they once called Jon when he became King. He looks every inch a king in this moment, even though he will never wear a crown. 
> 
> Walking closer to him Sansa can see that he is nervous too. He has never done this before, unlike her. 
> 
> This is not the part she is is nervous about.

VIII. Sansa

It is a large wedding, considering. Not as large as the weddings of the royal family in King's Landing but larger than every wedding Sansa witnessed in the North. She invited all the houses in her Kingdom, big and small. And all of them came, every single one, she notices with satisfaction. Adding some Lords and knights of the Vale and the Riverlands and a few nobles from the other parts of the six kingdoms and Winterfell ist bursting. 

Jons friend Samwell Tarly comes too. Without Gilly, baby Jon is too small for such a long travel (Jon winces when Sansa reads the name in Sams letter. He arrived at the castle three days before the wedding, just in time for his guests from King's Landing). 

Sam's accompanied by Brienne of Tarth and Davos Seaworth. The two men don't hide their happiness when they greet Jon. Brienne is warier though, raises her eybrows when she sees her as if she means to ask if she really wanted this. Sansa makes sure she knows that this marriage is exactly what she wants. She is thankful for the question though. 

She misses someone so loyal at her side and ponders if she can find anything that would make Brienne want to stay. It's not Tormund Giantsbane, that's for sure. Although the wilding, invited by Jon of course, still adores her. 

When the wedding day comes Sansa is equally nervous and relieved. 

They marry in the godswood just like hundreds of generations of Starks before them. It's beautiful that afternoon, sunny but not too warm. 

She's wearing a light grey dress with embroideries. Dark grey Wolfes for the Starks, dusty blue fishes for the Tullys. On her sleeves there are red leaves on black branches. Symbolizing the weirwood tree but also the colors of the Targaryens. The top of her hair is braided on the back of her head, the rest flows openly over her shoulders, matching the color on her sleeves. She wears her crown too and wonders what Jon will think of it. He's never seen it before. 

He waits in front of the weirwood tree. 

Jon is a sight to bee seen. In black as usual, but with red and grey embroideries on his chest and sleeves. Big wolves, small dragons for his southern father and northern mother. His hair is bound back once again. He's standing perfectly still in a way that only Jon can, the direwolf Ghost at his side. 

"The White Wolf" they once called Jon when he became King. He looks every inch a king in this moment, even though he will never wear a crown. 

Walking closer to him Sansa can see that he is nervous too. He has never done this before, unlike her. 

This is not the part she is is nervous about. 

Sansa heard women telling stories about how much they liked sharing a bed with a man, but she can still not imagine she could be one of this women. Jon is nothing like Ramsay, she knows that. But all she can imagine is pain. 

Jon is Jon, she reminds herself. And tries to think about that kiss. The kiss that made her want more. 

She needs to concentrate on this thought, she thinks. Maybe then the fear will go away.

He smiles when she arrives in front of the weirwood tree. 

They exchange dark grey cloaks. Again embroided with wolves. Sansa made them herself. This time she doesn't hesitate before she says "I take this man." Jon doesn't hesitate either. 

The kiss is just a peck on her lips. Sansa is disappointed but then he looks at her with such genuine affection she knows it's just because everybody's looking. 

The feast is lovely. There is a bard singing all her favourite songs. Everybody toasts to the couple. "Long may they reign", people shout. She tries to drink as little as possible but she can feel the alcohol when the bedding starts. She is carried by Sam, Tormund and Yohn Royce and of course they don't undress her. They wouldn't dare. Maybe they respect her too much. Or fear her. Or they hesitate because Brienne doesn't leave her side until they reach her bedchamber. Our bedchamber, she reminds herself. 

Jon is being carried by some Ladys, among them is Alys Karstark, who's been staring at him all evening. He'd shown mercy to her family, Sansa recalls. Alys Karstark is very much thankful still. More than that probably. She's at least trying to undress him. 

When the door closes behind the newlyweds, Sansa must laugh at first. He looks disheveled, together with the wine this seems very funny. Jon is laughing too. 

But then panic starts to rise in her. It's Jon, she reminds herself. Jon. But this time it doesn't help. The feelings from her wedding night with Ramsay come back. The pain, the fear, the shame. And suddenly she can't hold back the tears anymore.

* * * 

Jon

"I'm so sorry", she says. "A Lady shouldn't cry on her wedding night. I ... I just need a moment, I'm sorry." 

Jon doesn't understand at first. The wedding was beautiful and so is she in this dress that brings out the color of her eyes and her hair. Easily one of the most beautiful women he's seen in his life. And now his wife. They had fun at the feast and just a moment before she was laughing at him. Why is she crying now? 

Suddenly he knows why. 

She's afraid. Of course she is. He heard what happened at her wedding night with Ramsay and after that. He's seen the state she was in when she arrived at Castle Black. "If Ramsay wins I'm not going back alive", she said before the Battle.

It must have been terrible for her. Of course she is afraid. 

"Hey", he says. He's taking her hand, leading her to the bed and gestures her to sit down. She hesitates for a second. It's the bed, Jon thinks, cursing inwardly that there are no chairs in the room. 

"Just ... let's just talk", he says. 

She looks up at him, still stunningly beautiful even with her eyes big and blue and full of tears. 

This is not how Jon imagined his wedding night. Not that he imagined much, he tried to steer his thoughts away from the fact that he would be alone with Sansa, expected to consume their marriage. He still feels guilty that he agreed to this. He loved her, he did. Not the passionate love he had felt for Ygritte and Daenerys but love nonetheless. And after that kiss he was looking forward to spending time alone with Sansa. More than he should have. 

And now here they were. Husband and wife. Alone at last. And she was unhappy.

"I fear I will be a terrible wife", she says. 

He sits down next to her. He would like to hold her and console her but he's not quite sure how she would react to his touch. 

"Why would you think that?" he asks. "You excel at everything you do."

"Not at this."

"You could always send me back to the wall", he jokes. 

Her mouth twitches but doesn't break into a smile.

When she speaks again he expects it to be about Ramsay. But she doesn't. 

"I'm not good like you are", she says. "I'm hard and I'm cold and I manipulate people just like they did in King's Landing."

And then she tells him about Theon's girl ("Asha. Her name is Asha.") and the way she had used her. He doesn't approve, not really, but it prevented a fight where men would have died. And women and children probably too. It was smart. And she would give the girl a choice. 

"We will not always see eye to eye", Jon says. "We didn't until now ..."

She interrupts him. "And I'm still afraid", she says. "I thought it would be different with you but I'm still afraid. How can I be your wife, have your children when I'm full of fear?"

She looks a lot younger now. Her face vulnerable. 

For once she shows him all of her. 

Not the Lady or the Queen. The girl beneath the courtesies and the pretty surface. He's seen glimpses of her before, of her unguarded self. Back before the Battle of the Bastards. When she was angry at him for bringing a Targaryen Queen into her home. Or when she told him she would not be happy with anyone else. That she would feel safe with him. He understands better now what she meant. 

Jon looks at her for a moment. 

This ist Sansa, the real Sansa, he thinks. Weak and strong, hard and soft. It's the moment he falls for her, really falls for the girl that gave him reason to hope and dream when he thought he was lost. 

The girl he has vowed to protect. How can he do that when she feels threatened by him? 

"There's nothing to be afraid of", he says. 

"Ramsay ..." She doesn't say more.

"I'm not Ramsay. We will take our time. And if you don't want to, we won't."

"I want children."

"Then we'll have children. We'll figure it out."

He really doesn't know what else to say so he acts on instinct. He stands up and takes a few steps away from her towards the fireplace. 

He starts to undress. Slowly. His shoes first. His socks. His cape is already gone thanks to the Karstark girl, so he slips out of his doublet. He lets it fall to the floor. Then his shirt, a new one especially made for this occasion, embroided with wolves once more. He opens his trousers, lets them slide down his legs and steps out of them. Finally he takes off his smallclothes and lets them fall to the floor. 

She watches him. 

"What are you doing?" she asks when he's finished. 

"This is me, Sansa. All of me", he says, standing there. Completely naked. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

For a moment she just stares at him. She must think I've gone mad, Jon thinks. Then she glances at his loins for a fleeting second, making Jon feel very self aware. Heat rises to his cheeks. 

She doesn't take a second look but she stands up and walks to him. 

"This is where they stabbed you", she says, touching the wound on his chest. The one that doesn't want to heal and still hurts sometimes. Her touch doesn't hurt at all. It is featherlight. 

He takes her hand into his, gently guiding her. "And here." Their joined hands touch a point below his ribs. "Here." A point just above his navel, where the thin line of black hair begins. "And here." A point at his back. He almost can't reach it. 

He lets loose her hand.

"What about this one?" she asks, touching a scar on his side. 

So he explains. The souvenirs from his days with the wildlings, the battle at Castle Black, Hardhome, Winterfell. She touches every one of them with her fingers. 

Finally Sansa reaches the scar on his right tigh. 

"This is where Ygritte shot me with an arrow." The feel of Sansas fingers are nearly too much. It takes all his strengh not to get hard. 

"The wildling girl?" 

"Yes."

"Was she your first lover?" She must remember that he never went with Theon to Winter Town. Or tried his luck with the maids, he thinks.

"Yes. I only had two." 

She knows who the other one was. 

Her hand leaves his tigh. 

"Where did you get this one?" she asks. She feels along the scar over his eye with her index finger. Did he really never tell her? Not that he can remember. 

"That was an eagle with a man's mind."

She's standing so close now. Looks him straight in the eye. He wants to kiss her very badly right now but he doesn't want to scare her. 

He misses his chance. Sansa steps away from him. 

She slowly walks back to the bed. There she stops. lifts up her hands and unties her grey wedding cloak. It falls to the floor. She turns around, with the back to him, takes her hair in one hand and pushes it over her right shoulder. 

"Help me", she says.

Jon unties the straps of her gown. The garment is soft as silk. Soft like skin, he thinks. The dress too falls to the floor and Sansa stands there only in her undergarment. It goes the same way as her other clothes. 

Jons heart races. There she is, his wife, naked.

The first thing he notices are the color of her nipples and that of the hair between her legs. Pink and red. How beautiful. Then he sees the scars, white on her pale skin. There are lots of them, mostly small ones but also a few bigger. The big ones are on her left tigh, one just beneath her navel and two on her arms, one on each.

"Most of them are from Ramsay of course", she says and turns around again, showing him her back. Stripes of white scars run down from the shoulderblades to her pelvis. 

"But these I got in King's Landing. Joffrey ordered Meryn Trant to undress and to whip me. The Hound saved me."

A wave of heat runs through Jons body that has nothing to do with sexual tension. How he hates these men, who hurt her. Ramsay, Joffrey, Littlefinger, Meryn Trant. He would kill them if they were not dead already. 

He's at loss for words. He would like to touch her scars like she touched his but then she would have to say the name of the man she hates so much over and over again. He goes for something else instead. 

"You're beautiful. A few scars won't change that.You always were beautiful. You always will be", he says. 

Sansa doesn't answer. She steps closer again, raises her arms and softly pulls the ribbon out of Jon's hair. She runs her fingers through his curls. A shiver runs from his scalp down his spine to his hips. 

"There. Better", she says. 

Jon can't withstand any longer. He leans in and kisses her. He tries to be gentle but there is an urgency to his kiss that was not there in the kiss they shared before. After all she is standing in front of him undressed. 

She breaks the kiss.

"Are you still afraid?" he asks.

"Only a little", she says, taking his hand and pulling him to the bed. They lie down next to each other. Skin to skin.

There are times - not many, but a few - when Jon Snow is glad he grew up as a bastard. A bastard has to learn things, notice things, to read people's minds and bodies. Sansa doesn't tell him what she likes (he's not sure that she could) so he reads her body and tries to respond. And he can tell that she likes it. He hears it in her breath and in the way she says his name, once, twice, three times. 

He can feel her in his every nerve. 

Afterwards, he asks if she felt pain. 

"No", is all she says, before she kisses him again. 

* * *

Sansa

When the sun rises Sansa's eyes are still open. Jon sleeps next to her barely making a sound. He is still undressed and uncovered by the furs. Sansa could look at him for hours. His chest rising and falling. His dark curls unruly on the pillow. Sansa fights the urge to touch them again. He looks so peaceful. She has never seen him like this before. There is even the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

Her husband, she thinks and smiles. She has worn him out. 

Sansa knows her heart. She loved him before, she had. But now all her restraints are gone and she feels utterly and completely in love with him. With the boy who gave her Lady, the man who gave her back her home and her honor, who saved her from the army of the dead and from the woman with the dragons. The man who showed her that love must not hurt. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it please leave Kudos and/or a comment. Thank you!


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just fluff.

Epilogue

Jon

He's at loss for words when he sees his son for the first time. Not because he doesn't know words grand enough to capture his feelings but because he doesn't really know what to feel. It's past midnight when he is called to Sansas room. The midwife puts a bundle into his arms. What he sees is a tiny face, red and bloody. He is relieved when she takes the bundle back and shoves him out of the room once more. 

He only catches a glimpse of Sansa. He can't tell if she's alright before the door closes once again before him. She has been in there since the morning.

It's still raining. 

It had been raining for two days now. Sansa said she liked that. She found the early summer heat exhausting in the late stages if her pregnancy so the rain was very welcome. She had slept well that night but in the morning she had complained about back pain and that's when Brienne had called the midwife. He was urged out of the room soon after that. 

So Jon waited. He attended to Sansas duties, read and answered letters and questions. He trained with the Master-At-Arms in the yard. He lost every single fight. He even played hide and seek with little Asha in the glass gardens. 

He walked down to the crypts. He lit a candle in his mother's hand begging her not to let anything happen to Sansa. Doing the same with Catelyn's statue. 

Then the night came.

Other men sought distraction in wine or Ale but he had promised his wife not to drink. 

It was difficult. For Sansa of course, especially for Sansa, but for him too. He waited downstairs but he heard her scream anyway. 

In what pain she must be in, he thought. Sansa was a discreet person. She never forgot her courtesies. (Almost). How much did she have to suffer to scream like that? 

It was his fault too, he was well aware. 

He's relieved when it's all over but his mind is not really set at rest after he's seen them. He can't stop thinking about his own mother. 

So he waits once more. He observes the midwifes and the maids coming out of Sansas room and searches their faces. Do they look worried? No, they look calm. Tired maybe, but calm.

He waits until all of them are gone before he walks into his and his wife's bedroom once again.

Sansa is sleeping flow. Her cheecks are still a little flushed, not pale like a person dying. She looks exhausted but she looks fine. Beautiful even. 

He lies in a cradle next to the bed. He looks more like a real baby now. His face has gone from red to pink. They must have washed it, there is no blood to be seen. The child is dressed in all white, a blanked covers his small body. 

He seems sound asleep. But then he suddenly moves. He crunches his nose and turns his head just a litte, opens his mouth and yawns. After that he is still once again. 

"You can take him out if you want to", Sansa says. Her eyes are only half open but she's not sleeping after all. 

Jon doesn't know how. His hands feel much to big and rough and clumsy to touch this small and fragile child. 

Sansa seems to read his mind. 

"You rode a dragon. You can hold your son."

Jon smiles at that. He takes a deep breath and slowly picks the boy up. He's surprisingly heavy for his size and very warm. He holds him awkwardly, he's well aware. Jon takes few steps and sits down next to Sansa on the bed. That's better. 

They both just look at the child for a moment. Their child. 

Then Jon turns to Sansa. 

"Did it hurt very badly?" He chides himself for this stupid question. 

"I forgot all the pain once I saw him." 

It's not true, he sees it in her eyes.

"My love, you don't need to be the Lady with me."

"I know that, Jon", she says. "How can I make you understand. It's gonna be worth the pain. He's gonna be. You'll see."

He looks at him again. 

The child already has eyebrows. In the dim light Jon can't make out if they are red or brown. He hopes for red. His eyelashes are dark. The form of his ears are definitely Sansa's. His tiny hands are clenched to fists.

This boy is his son, Jon thinks and suddenly he feels much to warm. His son and the heir to Winterfell. He will rule the North one day. Jon hopes he can be a good father to him, help him become a good man and just ruler. Just like Ned Stark has been. 

Sansa pulls him out of his thoughts. 

"What do you want to call him?"

"You get to name him", he replies. After all, she did all the work. He put oil on her growing belly every night and gave her foot massages but really all he did was having a woderful time with his wife. 

They had talked about names sometimes but they had not decided. 

"The obvious choice would be Brandon", Sansa says. "But I would like to call him Rickon. After our brother." She never called him that before, "our" brother. "Rickon never got the chance to live his life. This feels like we would be making amends." 

"Rickon", Jon says, looking at his boy. "I like that."


End file.
